


when you return and find me here and run

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Yuri has a surprise guest on the day of his free skate at Russian Nationals.





	

**Author's Note:**

> \- Hi! This is my first YOI fic, I don’t know how this happened and how I managed to write this in an hour and a half. All I know was I was browsing through the results of Russian Nationals when I realized Yurio could have been National champion, and then words happened.  
> \- The scenario is inspired by the 2015 Russian Nationals, where the actual National champion was Maxim Kovtun.  
> \- Fun fact! Kazakhstan hasn’t held a national championships since 2011 because there are too few participants. The 2011 men’s champion was a Vladimir Rudi (trust me, I don’t know who he is).  
> \- The title is from the lyrics of the song _I Will Wait for You_ from the musical film _The Umbrellas of Cherbourg_.  
>  \- Many thanks to @caramiro for beta-ing this on short notice!  
> \- Merry Christmas!!!

Excitement is brewing all over the Iceberg Skating Palace in Sochi. The venue is packed with thousands and thousands of people who watch, enthralled, at the lone skater in the rink. He’s the final skater after sixteen others before him, and one would think the crowd would be restless, wanting to go home. But no; the crowd is silent, watching his every move on the ice.

Besides, Yuri won’t let them leave. After all, he is the star of the night. After winning the short program last night, he’s determined to nail his free skate, and seal his victory in this week’s Nationals. While he’s the heaviest favorite to win the title—he’ll be the newest National champion after Victor dominated the competition for ten straight years—he’s still determined to put on a show. _‘On the edge of your seats, people! Yuri Plisetsky is your National champion, and he will be for the next few years!’_

The crowd rises to their feet as he strikes his ending pose. Yuri gasps for breath and takes it all in—the cheers, the banners waving, his fellow skaters all awestruck, Yakov and a tear-stricken Lilia in a rare moment of mutual affection. He did it. He won.

He comes back to his senses when he feels something by his skates and when the announcer calls his name. He bows to the audience, who cheers more loudly than ever. He almost bumps into a sweeper trying to pick up a large cat plushie, and he relieves her of this task by picking it up himself. It’s bigger than he is, but he doesn’t care one bit as he skates to the boards, laughing when he bumps into Yakov.

“You, my child, are officially a prima ballerina,” Lilia says, kissing him on both cheeks as they sit down the kiss and cry. She dabs the edges of her eyes with her handkerchief. “I’m so, _so_ proud of you.”

“Yes, your performance is much better than in the Grand Prix Final,” Yakov clears his throat. “But make sure to save your best performance for Worlds.”

“I know that.” Yuri would have blown up at Yakov’s comment, but right now, he knows his coach is right. He has gotten the title to one of the biggest competitions in figure skating on the first half of the season, yet the next half is the most crucial. He wants the European title, but nothing says top of the world like a World title. And at Worlds in Beijing, he needs to be better, better than this.

He’ll cross the bridge when he gets there. Right now, all he wants is to relish the feeling that comes with being Russia’s new top male skater. Some girls from his fan club scream his name from the sides, and he gives them a rare smile and a wave, causing some of them to go into shock.

The screen in front of him, and on the big screen above the rink, is now replaying all the elements of his free skate. He clutches his cat plushie tighter, smiling as Yakov praises every element—the quad sal was flawless, his spin positions getting better and better. Then, the camera starts replaying reactions from the skaters in the venue—Mila screaming when he landed his second quad (he’ll tease her about it tomorrow), the newly crowned pairs team on their feet—

His eyes widen when the camera shows the next skater.

“Otabek?!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It feels like a lifetime when Yuri finally pries himself away from people—his coach, the media, ISU officials, and especially his fan club. He pulls on his hoodie and briskly walks out of the arena, wondering where to find Otabek. He has to be hanging around somewhere. Yuri knows the area where he was seated, but several Yuri’s Angels members were sitting there, too, and Yuri would like to make it out of the arena alive. 

He freezes on his tracks just before he heads for the exit, slapping a hand to his forehead. He fishes out his cell phone and opens his VK. Sure enough, Otabek has left him a message, telling him where he is. Yuri makes a sharp turn to the corner, and runs towards the parking lot. 

Otabek was leaning against the wall of the parking lot exit that Yuri almost misses him had the older one not called his name. He’s holding a bouquet of flowers, and Yuri feels his face flame up as Otabek approaches him and hands him the bouquet. “Congrats, National champion,” he says with a smirk. That smirk would typically set Yuri off, but Otabek has proven time and again that he is an exception to many things. 

“Y-You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Yuri says, his mouth strangely dry. He clutches the bouquet tighter, hoping Otabek doesn’t notice the grin forming on his face. “Don’t you have Christmas to celebrate? Or a Kazakh National title to defend?” 

“We don’t celebrate Christmas, and Kazakh Nationals is cancelled, as usual,” Otabek says. He’s deadpan, but Yuri has an inkling that the older one is enjoying every bit of this. “And I wanted to surprise you.” 

“It sure worked,” Yuri mutters. The question “Why?” fades away. It’s the first question that came to mind the moment he saw Otabek in the screen, a small smile on his face as he broke into applause. But he’s torn between wanting to know and not wanting to know because … he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. “But thanks … for coming. I really appreciated it.” 

“What are friends for?” 

“Yeah. I would watch your hypothetical Kazakh Nationals anytime.” He feels a little better when Otabek chuckles. (Victor had jokingly pointed out in the banquet in Barcelona that he’s the only person who can elicit a sound that resembles laughter out of Otabek, but again, Yuri doesn’t want to get his hopes up.) 

The word “friends”, though, feels like a sharp blow to his chest. It’s a word they had called each other in Barcelona, but “after Barcelona” is full of conversations in VK that Yuri had been regularly checking social media more often than before. And their conversations aren’t just about skating and common interests; Yuri could tell Otabek how sometimes he’s tired of it all, and Otabek would just listen—conversations even he can’t share with his grandfather, and that’s saying something. 

But what does he know? This is probably just a temporary thing—he doesn’t have many friends because they either admire his skating or they get intimidated and run away. Maybe these “feelings” will simmer down, when he and Otabek have reached a certain degree of familiarity. Whenever that may be. 

“Yuri.” 

He blinks and returns to reality. He must have been thinking for quite some time that Otabek looks concerned. His face flames up again. “W-What?” he asks, his voice an embarrassing pitch higher. 

“Are you doing anything tonight?” 

“N-Not really.” He’s very sure Yakov is going to save all fanfare in the closing banquet. After that, it’s back to training. He looks at his watch. “I _do_ have to get back to the hotel. Grandpa’s waiting for me.” 

“Oh.” Otabek’s voice drops a pitch lower. “Okay. I was planning we can have dinner and catch up, but …” 

“How about you come over and have dinner with me and Grandpa?” Yuri blurts out, and his eyes widen as the words spill out of his mouth. It’s the first thing that came to his mind, but he thought it could be done some other time. He still hadn’t asked Otabek how long he’ll be staying, and maybe he could show him around before having dinner at their place, but … He swears to himself. Too late for that. 

Otabek blinks. “Won’t your grandfather mind?” 

“I’ve told him about you. He won’t mind.” And that’s the truth. His grandfather seems to have taken an interest in Yuri’s new friend, but he doesn’t know about his grandson’s inner turmoil about the label yet. Yuri figures he’ll tell his grandfather when he has it figured out. 

“Okay.” Otabek smiles and stretches out a hand, to the direction of the exit. “Lead the way, National champion.” 

“We’re walking? No motorcycle this time?” Yuri says jokingly, as he walks ahead of Otabek, out the parking lot. 

“You’ve made it pretty clear in the arena you don’t need any saving, Russian Fairy.” 

Getting out of the arena is easier said than done. Yuri’s fan club seems to be catching up on his usual escape route because they’re lurking outside the parking lot now. The fans squeal when they open the door, and Yuri is torn between slamming the door and looking for a car they can hitchhike or yelling a stream of expletives in the hopes that his fans can actually clear a path for them. But then Otabek puts an arm around his waist and pushes them past the screaming fans. Yuri can hear his heart pounding loudly that it’s a wonder why it hasn’t burst out of his chest yet. 

Somehow, Otabek has managed to hail a cab, and Yuri sighs in relief when warmth spreads throughout his fingertips. Otabek tells the driver the name of the hotel, and he sighs in relief and leans against the seat when the driver starts the engine. “I stand corrected,” he remarks. “Your fans have gotten crazier.” 

“So you’ll continue to be my knight in shining armor, hero from Kazakhstan?” There he goes again, Yuri blurting things out without so much as a thought. But their arms were touching, and to think there’s still so much space in the cab, he’s still a little high from his victory earlier, and he feels a little braver than a few minutes ago. 

There’s no mistaking the smile on Otabek’s lips. “As long as you want me to, Yuri.” 

Yuri smiles back and is brave enough to lean his head on Otabek’s shoulder. Otabek doesn’t complain. Right now, Yuri’s not going to get the answers he wants, but he’s also sure that he likes what they are at this point. 

It’s only when the cab arrives at the hotel does he realize that they’re still holding hands.


End file.
